


farewell from the shadows

by stardustsx



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angry TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Apples, Bread, Butcher Army on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Cooking, Cooking With Tubbo, Doomsday, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Gen, Guitars, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insane Wilbur Soot, L'Mantree on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), LITERALLY, Manberg, Niki | Nihachu Needs a Hug, Pogtopia, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Revolution, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Shapeshifter Alexis | Quackity, Suicidal Thoughts, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot is Floris | Fundy's Parent, Wilbur's Coat - Freeform, but slight, l'manberg, no beta we die like wilbur, nothing graphic, sentient pogtopia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29891817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustsx/pseuds/stardustsx
Summary: pogtopia has been abandoned for a while it seems, doesn't it? would you be surprised to hear that some people still visit it, from time to time?or;a bunch of characters visit what’s left of pogtopia, at different times.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	farewell from the shadows

**Author's Note:**

> the plan was to post it in six chapter but i decided to fuck it and post it as one. half of it was written at 3am. so. yeah
> 
> anyways, i hope you enjoy it!!! writing it was hard, but i loved it anyway!! some of the headcanons are based off @originwilbur and @cookiekindasus tweets!!! so show them some love on twitter too!!

**I**

Tubbo was the current president of L’Manberg.

He has been holding the position for a bit over a week now, and it was a _mess_. Schlatt’s administration left more bad than good, with taxes too high to ever justify and people scared for their lives. Tubbo had no break since he took the seat, spending all days and most of the nights in the office, and the little free time he had he still was mostly helping rebuild the capitol’s center.

He was just so exhausted by it all.

Both Wilbur and Schlatt have died leaving the country in shambles. But if Tubbo had to decide who did worse, he’d definitely choose Wilbur.

There were _deaths_ after what _he_ has done. In all the wrong that Schlatt did, at least he hasn’t left over a hundred citizens dead. People— some people of Manberg helped the Pogtopians fight against the previous president and his people, but when Wilbur’s TNT went off, too many were caught in the middle of the crossfire.

They almost lost Quackity at that moment. Some people were still not found to this day.

Tubbo thought about it, recently; tried to figure out _when_ did Wilbur lose himself, when did he become someone like… that. Not the musician everyone knew, who fought with words and never wore armor, even when out in the wilds during the nights. Not that person, but someone terrifying.

After all, even the bravest fighters of Pogtopia were scared of Wilbur in his last days. Everyone but Tommy was.

Tubbo took a deep, shaking breath, as he stepped down the stairs to Pogtopia.

Some parts of the ravine were dark, but not all of them; only a couple of torches still burning brightly. And even though some places he couldn’t see at all, it didn’t seem like there were any monsters nearby. It was terrifyingly quiet, the only louder sounds being his own footsteps and breaths. How did this place, filled with so many people just a couple of days ago become so haunting in such a short time?

Tubbo’s feet took him straight to the communal kitchen. Wouldn’t he be one of the few on kitchen duty today, if Pogtopia was still lived in? Possibly.

Of all the food he could find, the only ones that looked even a tiny bit edible were a piece of bread, an apple, and a bit of honey. He could work with that. Actually, it was more than enough.

They rarely did it, in both Pogtopia and during the revolutionary days, saving it for bigger occasions. Honey wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to come across, and it was more usable as a redstone component, anyway. Eating it was a waste of materials, even if it tasted good.

Tubbo started cutting the apples into thin slices. Then he put them onto previously cut pieces of bread. Next, he let the smallest amount of honey drip onto the sweet sandwiches, and put aside the small knife he held.

He bit into the food almost right after that. And winced.

The president thought it would be good, but the only thing he could taste was ash, as if, somehow, the explosions reached all the way here, contaminating everything they touched. Or maybe, it was still Wilbur’s influence; since wherever he went there was a trail of ash and smoke after him, and maybe, maybe, Tubbo just wanted to blame someone, even if that someone was dead for good now.

The sandwich tasted awful, but it also tasted _comforting._ As if, in one way or another, everything would be alright soon.

~~_And he hoped, he truly hoped it would be true._ ~~

  
  


**II**

Tommy stomped heavily on the stairs, his vision almost blurred from the anger that overtook him.

This wasn’t fair. None of this was _fair_.

He just wanted some fun, and yet he had to pay for it. It wasn’t anything George couldn’t fix in five minutes, either! So, he truly didn’t understand why did everyone make it into such a big problem.

Though, he regretted bringing Ranboo into it all. The hybrid absolutely didn’t deserve to get dragged into a conflict that’s gotten as big as this (and his apparent memory problems? Tommy must’ve looked like a jerk after all this). Taking all the blame on himself probably wasn’t the best of ideas, but at least that guy wouldn’t also end up in such a shitty situation only, like, four? Five days after he appeared in L’Manberg?

Nevermind. The more he thought about it, the angrier he was getting.

The first thing that hit him was the smell of half-rotten potatoes. Tommy stopped abruptly, and looked around.

He was in Pogtopia. Huh. That wasn’t what he expected.

He honestly never wanted to come back here, and yet… it was comforting. Even if it smelled awful.

Slowly, Tommy gazed into every possible room, every corner. It was awfully dark; the only lights being a couple of lanterns that still flickered with some energy. Everyone abandoned this place, it seemed. For good, too. He wasn’t that surprised; every person that lived there during the resistance against Schlatt’s administration was offered a place to live from Tubbo’s—

No. Tommy didn’t want to think about Tubbo. Not at that moment. He was still angry ( ~~lying to himself, as usual~~ ).

The only room he was never allowed in was also the only one which door was closed. Wilbur’s room; or cabinet, how the older preferred to call it from time to time.

But there was no Wilbur to stop him now, was there? So, Tommy opened the door.

It’s been _weeks_ , but it was still screaming that yes, his older brother lived in here. Smelling like ash and cigarettes; with a touch of that dumb cologne or something. With everything but the desk being absurdly clean of things, and a couple of its drawers widely open, and a few journals laying down in and around them.

Tommy closed the door behind him and slowly headed to pick up the closest one he could touch. He could almost see Wilbur filling it with words, sitting with his pen, and scribbling his thoughts away.

_It’s happening tomorrow. All will be gone tomorrow, including me. Poetic, in a way, how I’ll never achieve peace, no matter how glorious tomorrow will be. Pathetic, how it all and I were always doomed to fall. There’s a part of me that is afraid that something will go wrong, though — maybe it won’t work, maybe someone will try to stop me. But there’s also another one that reminds me how thrilling it will be, to finally see it all get destroyed, and that part is right. I am doing it no matter what happens._

_Those are my last hours. I will not be coming out of this alive._

_Somehow, this doesn’t concern me at all._

The notebook hit the wall, and Tommy felt like he was choking on the overbearing smell of cigarette smoke and fire; as if Wilbur was standing right beside him, still taunting him from behind a non-existing grave. His eyes stung, so he closed them for a second, but it didn’t seem to help at all. He stood, leaning onto the desk, with one hand clutching it so hard he could feel splinters digging into his skin, and the other palm hitting the wood so hard he hissed right away and caught it midair to massage it.

A drawer jumped open. Tommy looked at it.

Wilbur’s coat was right inside. He picked it up. It was… the exact same one his brother died in, still with a hole made from a sword in the back, still dirty with blood. Someone had to leave it here, but who?

“What the fuck,” Tommy murmured, touching the material gently. It was one of the last things left after Wil, and it was just left there? To what, rot? Like his brother’s body was left to? If that was the goal, whoever bothered to find the coat could at least bury it next to him, and not leave it like that.

Tommy was exhausted, and it was cold. He put on the coat (it felt as if he was hugging Wilbur, as if they were kids again) and went straight to the bed.

If he had to take part in a final trial tomorrow, at least he could get a good night’s sleep.

~~_And if the next day everyone noticed the coat and how Tommy looked eerily similar like Wilbur when shouting at Dream, no one said a thing._ ~~

  
  


**III**

Quackity was having regrets.

He wasn’t that sure if he actually wanted to go after Technoblade anymore, but it was too late to back out of it now. Besides, it was his idea; it would be too suspicious if he tried to. Which put him in the situation he was in now. 

Going down the stairs to end up in his room in Pogtopia, as he usually did when he was dealing with stuff he didn’t want to deal with in front of other people. He flapped his wings a couple of times, so they wouldn’t be as heavy from water he went through to get there.

In his defense, it was calm here, and quiet, and it was what the shapeshifter needed the most in moments like those. He just needed some rest and peace; just so he wouldn’t accidentally do something he’d regret later. Unfortunately, it was too late to fix it all now, but at least maybe he’d get a quiet night before the storm of tomorrow.

Quackity was almost sure he was the only person left who still visited Pogtopia from time to time. The place wasn’t fully engulfed in darkness yet, he kept changing the oil in the lanterns and brought new torches in, sometimes. He, also, moved Wilbur’s guitar from the abandoned room to his own.

It was still a perfectly fine instrument. It would be a waste to let it deteriorate, and he had to brush up on his skills sometimes, so it was a win-win situation, really. He played on the guitar, it calmed him down, his ability to play didn’t fall too much, and the instrument itself wasn’t getting destroyed because of the lack of use.

But something was fucked up this time, since Quackity couldn’t help but feel as if something was fucking _touching_ the guitar. The ravine was creepy, yes, but it never seemed literally _haunted_.

Until now.

He took his hands off the strings, and yet they still played. He kept them on, playing a tune mindlessly, when something touched his hands and moved them, so he’d play something different.

It was terrifying.

It was familiar.

There was something nostalgic about it, the way the notes were played, and how Quackity could swear he could hear a faint laugh during some parts. If he wasn’t this sure that the guitar’s owner was gone for good, if he had the slightest suspicion that Wilbur wasn’t six feet under, he would have started shouting for him to stop.

But Wilbur was dead and there was no way he could have come back.

And Quackity still had an execution to finish planning.

~~_And the next day, even though the shapeshifter didn’t remember a thing from his visit, he couldn’t stop but feel as if someone was disappointed in him, by the gentle touches he could swear he felt._ ~~

  
  


**IV**

Fundy was running.

Away from L’Manberg, away from whatever the Nether his grandfather and uncle planned to do to the country. He just wanted some peace, and — _gods_ — was it this hard for the universe to give him one day of it?

He didn’t even _notice_ when his legs took him to Pogtopia, the dirt that hid the ravine months ago poorly moved to the side, the stairs that led down clearly visible. At least he didn’t have to bother with that, huh? At least, with all the things that were going on around, one was made the tiniest bit easier for him.

Fuck, Fundy hated Wilbur. He hated how his father constantly ignored him, how he clearly hated him after he started spying on Schlatt, how he didn’t even _say a single word_ to him in his last two days.

_(Fundy also missed how, when he was younger, Wilbur would teach him to play the piano, especially one song that he and Sally would dance to every time he tried to play it; how his father hugged him tightly and told him stories, and how, during the revolution, they all would sit around a fireplace and sing the stupidest songs that would come to all of their minds. He would never admit it out loud, though.)_

Surprisingly enough, the ravine was empty. The fox hybrid gritted his teeth and his tail twitched. He would expect there to be a lot of people, trying to find shelter from the doomsday happening over in the country. It was, still, the closest safe place around here, the other being Eret’s castle.

But, no. There was no one but him.

Fundy moved his ear a bit. Silence. Not a single skeleton’s rattle or a zombie’s groan in the nearest couple of caves. Good for him, but… still confusing.

Out of the corner of his eye, something moved, and then a sound rung. As if someone touched one of the buttons that were on the walls. He quickly looked in that direction. Still, nobody.

A laugh echoed through Pogtopia, a very familiar one to that. Cold and calculated, quiet, but demanding attention. He knew clearly who’s it was, but he’s been _dead_ , for _good_ now.

Insanity must’ve been a family thing, then, if he kept hearing voices that had no real way of being there. He, his father, his granfather, uncle— the only one spared so far seemed to be Tommy, and yet who knew how he was after his exile. One he survived, but what about the second?

Being alone also seemed like a family trait, and Fundy was definitely cursed with it. Lone _survivalists_ , they were supposed to be, yet somehow death surrounded all of them.

After all, there was a reason Philza was named its Angel. There was a reason it collected them all, one after the other, in various ways.

Fundy, sometimes, hoped he would be next.

~~_And somehow he would never admit it out loud; just like he wouldn’t admit anything else in his life._ ~~

  
  


**V**

Burning down the L’Mantree was either the best or the worst thing she’s ever done. Niki was just in too much of a haze to clearly decide which.

L’Mantree was the symbol of hope in the country. As long as it stood, there was someone who still believed in L’Manberg, for one reason or other, and too many times it’s been her.

So, maybe, it was for the best. At least, maybe, no one would have to get any more hurt.

She stepped down some stairs, walking into a dark space. She looked around. Huh. Pogtopia. Honestly, she would never expect to come back here. After all this time especially.

But desperate times called for desperate measures it seemed, and Pogtopia was, after all, a place no one visited anymore. She would— _should_ — be safe there.

Niki stopped abruptly, however, when she heard someone… crying? There was also a gentle sound of buttons being pressed in the background, but she ignored it. _One problem at a time,_ she thought. Furrowing her eyebrows, she moved forward, as silently as possible.

There was a familiar something about those cries.

Around the next corner, a hunched figure was sitting. Without a second of confusion, she recognized who it was.

 _Fundy_.

Gently, she moved closer, and, kneeling, put a hand on his arm. His head jerked upwards, and he was clearly startled, but didn’t seem angry, which was always good.

“Are you…?” Niki started, softly, the haze hovering in her mind slowly clearing up in the dark area. “What are you doing here?”

Fundy took a moment to reply, trying to stabilize his breathing, and straightening his back. He looked at her, with lips thin and murmured:

“I could ask you the exact same thing.” He cleared his throat. “Last I saw you, you were heading to L’Manberg.”

“I finished what I had to do there.”

“Funny, if you came here then, instead of going… back... somewhere else…” his voice faltered at the end of the sentence.

“Yeah.” She sighed, and sat next to the hybrid. Both of them were now leaning on the stone wall. “There’s no home for us to go back to anymore.”

Suddenly, a loud explosion rang throughout the ravine, and they both caught each other in fear. After a second though, it was all silent once again. Something was… off about it all, to say the least. Nothing seemed affected, as if there was only the sound, and no actual explosions.

“Did you—?” Niki asked quickly, looking around. Everything was in one piece. They were both alright. What in the world was that?

“It wasn’t me, I swear!” Fundy raised his free hand. “It’s so—”

_“k̴i̷l̵l̷ ̸m̵e̸,̵ ̴k̶i̴l̴l̷ ̴m̷e̷,̴ ̴p̶̶̸h̸̸̶i̴̵̶l̷̶̷,̴ ̶m̴u̴r̵d̷e̸r̴ ̸m̵e̸ ̵n̶o̴w̶,̸ ̶s̷t̶a̵b̶ ̷m̸e̵—̷ ̸s̶t̷a̶b̷ ̴m̷e̶ ̵w̶i̷t̴h̴ ̶t̷h̸i̷s̷ ̷s̸w̷o̶r̶d̴!̶”_

“Did you hear that too?” the fox looked around. She nodded. No matter what it was, it was terrifying. Pogtopia has never been the most welcome of places, but it never seemed literally _haunted_.

_“y̸o̸u̵'̸r̸e̷ ̷m̵y̶ ̷S̷O̸N̵!̸”_

Then, something as if fell from somewhere, hitting the ground harshly. It wasn’t a pleasant sound in the slightest, and they both dreaded what was to come. But… nothing was happening.

Silence followed, until the very morning.

~~_And after it all, silence still followed Niki, always the one ignored by everyone; but everyone snaps at some point too, don’t they?_ ~~

  
  
  


**\+ I**

Wilbur took a deep breath.

He still wasn’t this used to being able to breathe freely again, his head getting dizzy whenever he inhaled too much of oxygen. But he was alive; he was _back_ , and that mattered more than his current questionable health.

It smelled _horribly_ in Pogtopia, and he grimaced, but couldn’t stop a sad smile forming on his face right after. Everything was dark, with no burning torch in sight, and not a sound to be heard.

It was clear that not even a single soul touched the ravine in months. He wasn’t at all surprised.

Wilbur took a couple of steps closer to the biggest communal chest. Humming at the memories, he opened it. A couple of potatoes, some notebook, a couple of feathers… one emerald and some old milk. Nothing of too big importance. He closed it back, and sat on its top, hiding his hands in his coat’s pockets.

Before, the silence would bother him. Now, though… it was peaceful.

_“Are we the bad guys?”_

He blinked. A chuckle left his mouth.

“The anger was justified,” Wilbur admitted quietly, and his voice echoed throughout the entire ravine. “The one it was directed at though, wasn’t. Manberg wasn’t the one.”

_“Gods help whoever’s caught in the fucking crossfire!”_

He knew, that once he set his mind to something, it would happen. That’s just who he was. And he didn’t regret it in the slightest. Blowing up L’Manberg to nothing but a crater was something he didn’t regret; it had to happen. No matter what, L’Manberg had to be blown up, in one way or another. Otherwise, someone else would do it anyway, and he wasn’t one who let others have their victories.

All had to happen the way Wilbur guided it; and if it didn’t, then the Gods themselves had to watch out for his fury. It helped, too, since he had two on his side; and two of the more powerful ones, to add to that.

Trying to stop him was pointless, if he had Death and Blood on his side, both coated in words that could either be the sweetest or the most rotten.

And Wilbur damn well recognized that. He always did.

_“Am I a villain? In this story.”_

“I am myself,” he stated loudly, gazing onto the walls. “Who I was before it all, who I was during the revolution, who I was _here_ , who I was in death— it is all me. Every single part of me is who I am now, and I won’t try to pretend otherwise.” He stopped, jumping off the chest. Taking a deep breath, Wilbur continued:

“You, Pogtopia, may try to fool me all you want, showing me the worst parts of myself, and you’re right!” His hands flew out of the pockets, and he spread his arms out. “It _is_ me, it has always been, and it will always be a part of me. I have another chance, and your meddling will not even come close to destroying it.”

His steps echoed, as he neared the stairs, the only sound in otherwise overbearing silence. It felt different from before; as if something was freed from its deep slumber.

“Farewell, Pogtopia.” Wilbur nodded, and walked out of the ravine. “And may we never meet again.”

_a̴n̴d̴ ̸m̷a̷y̸ ̴w̷e̵ ̴n̶e̴v̶e̴r̸ ̶m̶e̴e̸t̶ ̶a̸g̴a̵i̸n̴,̵ ̸w̵i̷l̶b̵u̶r̷.̶_

**Author's Note:**

> if you have troubles reading out what's written under the glitched text, here are the translations:  
> in niki's part — "kill me, kill me, phil, murder me now, stab me— stab me with this sword!" and "you're my SON!"  
> in wilbur's part — "and may we never meet again, wilbur."
> 
> i am genuinely so, SO proud of this work. i think it's the best thing i've written in at least a year, especially the wilbur part (honestly,, i am not exactly proud of niki's part, especially its ending, but i still consider it good!!! so i hope you enjoyed it!! :D) 
> 
> comments are authors' best food so please share some opinions if you have them!! i hope you enjoyed this piece, and i hope you'll stick with me for when i post another something (spoiler — it might or might not have to do something with ranboo ;D)
> 
> sometimes i post snippets and other writing related stuff on my twitter account, too — @stardustsx!


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